


Bad for Business

by thefutureisequalaf



Series: Jessie Rourke [1]
Category: Nero Wolfe - Rex Stout
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Detectives, F/F, Genderbending, Period-Typical Sexism, There must be a tag for what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 03:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7961068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefutureisequalaf/pseuds/thefutureisequalaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Everything you've read about the great Nero Wolfe's leg-man? Me. Five-foot twelve with dashing good looks? Check. Thorn in the Homicide Squad’s side? Check. Spent the night at Lucy Valdon’s? None of your damn business.</i>
</p><p>Inspired by Rex Stout's "Watson Was a Woman" address.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad for Business

**Author's Note:**

> This may grow into a story with a plot, time and inspiration permitting.

When we closed the file on the “Baird Archer” case, I swiveled my chair to face Wolfe and asked, “How long do you think we can keep our own story under wraps?”

He scowled. “Don’t compare me to that ninny.”

“I didn’t compare you. I alluded to you.” I shook my hair out and re-braided it as I spoke. “It’s a serious question: how much longer can we keep up our charade? Leonard Dykes didn’t obfuscate the events he novelized enough and got himself and, worse, three others murdered. I’m not saying we’re next, but it’d be bad for business.”

Wolfe scowled again and picked up his book. On principle, he dislikes it when I talk and do my hair at the same time. He, the resident genius, doesn’t believe a person can think properly while using their hands for something else, so it rankles him when I pull it off.

Nero Wolfe pays me to rankle him. This time, I admit, was for my entertainment, but badgering Wolfe when he refuses to work is what clothes and feeds not only him, but also Fritz Brenner, our full-time chef, Theodore Horstmann, the orchid nurse, and me, Jessie Rourke, Wolfe’s woman Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. No, I haven’t omitted anyone; there is no Archie Goodwin at this address. There is no Archie Goodwin. Everything you've heard about the great Nero Wolfe's leg-man? Me. Five-foot twelve with dashing good looks? Check. Thorn in the Homicide Squad’s side? Check. Regular at the Flamingo Club? Check. Spent the night at Lucy Valdon’s? None of your damn business.

I’ll give you some details to help reframe your mind. First and foremost, “Jessie” is my given name. If you find the “-ie” too familiar, like Wolfe did, tough break. I’m “Jess” to three people and neither he nor you will make it four. The Scots-Irish red in my hair is all but drowned by melting-pot brown. My eyes are green, but I’ve had cops book them as grey or hazel, when the light isn’t right. They’re too close together for Hollywood, mostly because they make my nose look bigger than it is. As mentioned, I’m tall, to the point where I faced a choice between living with a stoop and growing a very thick skin. As an adult, the societal disadvantages of my height are outweighed by the chief benefit – I get away with never wearing heels. Growing up, I had an athletic disposition, and I keep in condition to chase suspects and climb fences. It shows. I’m called “unladylike” by men who haven’t dined with me, “unfeminine” by women who don’t appreciate Katharine Hepburn, and “Amazonian” by students of the Classics. Those with sense keep their mouths shut.

When I was satisfied with my braid and Wolfe was almost, but not quite, at the end of a page, I cleared my throat. “What’s our contingency plan for if we’re found out?”

His lips tensed while he finished his paragraph. “The reputation we earn now is our contingency plan.”

“Oh, sure,” I said, “I can see the headlines. _The Gazette's_ will be charitable, something like, ‘Famous Detective Even Greater Than Thought: How Nero Wolfe succeeded without Archie Goodwin’. If we’re lucky, the _Daily News_ won’t run with, ‘Genius Detective Exposed as Fraud!’ Good luck charging your usual rates once clients know they aren’t paying for a man.”

That drew a growl. “Let them tell it to Mr. Parker.” Nathaniel Parker, our attorney on call, is also one of the few people outside the brownstone who knows the truth about Archie Goodwin. I shook my head, picturing the legal fees filling up our ledger and getting us nowhere, but Wolfe was prepared. “Should it come to that, we will discover the dollar value of a man’s pride – and a woman’s.” Meaning, he'd spend his last cent rather than submit to others' judgement of my worth. He can be noble like that, when the occasion strikes him.

* * *

The image of Archie Goodwin, whom you know and love, is our brand. We gave him top billing and made him real in the public consciousness. Lon Cohen at _The Gazette_ owed Wolfe big, back when it was early days for us, and we got him on-board to bring Goodwin to life. He planted Archie's file in their morgue, with a bio, photographs, and all the scraps to make it convincing. As Archie gained notoriety, we leaked the bio and similar photographs to the other papers. The con goes on; we have more photos of “Archie” locked away in the safe, waiting for their turn in our drip-feed to the news. When Lon calls us for a scoop, my comments are attributed to Goodwin. Every month or so, I put on a male-tailored suit and appropriate shoes, stow my hair inside a fedora, and make a show of getting the car and going away for the weekend. He even has a PI license and permits for two handguns, which we keep at the bottom of the Hudson. We’ve convinced the city – including people who should know better, not just you – that Archie Goodwin is alive and at large. A few even claim to have met him.

Why the huge production? Because an eccentric genius needs a bridge for society to relate to him. That link, for this society, had to be a man. Not a male, but an archetypal man. Our clients need that reassuring image in their minds when they sit in the red leather chair and face the wide, abrasive detective and the towering female assistant. Never mind that this man doesn’t exist; if he did, he'd have my job. This is Nero Wolfe, after all, whose seventh of a ton prefers the path of least resistance. He’s stuck with me: Saul Panzer is made for freelancing, Fred Durkin doesn’t appreciate the fine art of badgering, and Orrie Cather lacks in ability what he makes up for in appearance. So, when prospective check-writers look at my desk and ask Wolfe where “Goodwin” is, they get fed a line. It goes something like this: “Mr. Goodwin is out on another case _(his time is in high demand)_ and will study Miss Rourke’s notes when he returns _(everything you want him to know, tell her)_. As for her, I accept nothing less than the best in all aspects of my work _(my fee will be large)_.” After that, unless the case drags on for months or the client is a particular ass, we rarely have trouble.

There’s one more element to our smokescreen. It’s the one I’m least thrilled about, but I’ve seen it tip the scales often enough. If you’ve followed Wolfe at all, you know how he feels about my sex. Actually, you don’t, because that's all nonsense. We write Wolfe as an egregious misogynist so that real misogynists will assume I’m special. It’s the contrast: if Wolfe feels so strongly about women and still tolerates me, then I must be Minerva incarnate. It’s distasteful, but it pays the bills – par for the detective business.

You may wonder why I don’t skip the rigmarole and hire on with Doll Bonner’s detective agency. Aside from Wolfe's genius attracting the most interesting cases and the deepest pockets, I have my reasons. See, I did work briefly for Doll, before I met Wolfe, but I gave it up. Most of her cases fall into two categories: those “a woman can handle” and those that are farmed out to her by the other agencies, who know better. I’m wasted on the first kind and I prefer to size up my clients before I work for them. Also, Sally Colt works for Doll Bonner. She’s straight. I needed some distance.

There, now you’ve seen behind the elephantine yellow curtain. Is this the life I'd choose, if I were ordering à la carte? No, but it's the best gig a woman detective ever had. “Archie Goodwin” is a daily headache for both Wolfe and myself, but Wolfe’s voluntary inconvenience is his highest honor. It proves that I am, as he says, very satisfactory.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to comment with your thoughts! Also, please suggest tags which would help interested readers find this work. I don't know what to call this space between genderbending and a wholly original character.


End file.
